


Harry Potter and the Secret Societies

by Varon



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Aftermath of Violence, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Author Notes Will Warn On Relevant Chapters, Blood and Violence, Character Death, F/F, F/M, Good Slytherins, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Multiple Pairings, Platonic Female/Female Relationships, Platonic Female/Male Relationships, Platonic Male/Male Relationships, Relationships TBA - Freeform, Slow Burn, Worldbuilding, dark themes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-12
Updated: 2019-02-21
Packaged: 2019-10-26 13:58:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,683
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17747177
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Varon/pseuds/Varon
Summary: Harry didn't know who saved him that day in Moaning Myrtle's bathroom - all he really remembers aside from the pain was a distinct green trim on his savior's robe. Now it's nearly a year later, and blood is flooding the tiles again - only this time, it isn't his. As Professor Snape kneels to correct the damage done to Draco Malfoy, Harry finds himself forcibly hauled away by unyielding hands and finds himself face to face with three furious Slytherins who have no intentions of letting this matter slide without recompense.An alternate path from the story we know, Harry's journey to understanding the wizarding world from the Slytherin point of view brings new light to the war front, and casts a dark shadow upon the idea that the concepts of good and evil are as black and white as they appear.





	1. Tiles Of Tragedy

**Author's Note:**

> This is going to be a long fic - I have about fifty chapters planned out, though depending on how things go it may be more. I intend to use author's notes sparingly. To start I will state this is not a Drarry fic, though Harry and Draco are key players in the story - what is more, this is canon divergent as of the end of the fifth book / film, and utilizes a lot of worldbuilding to make its own mark like it's 2008. 
> 
> There is canon typical violence in this chapter - mention of suicide is also a key feature, though mentions of self harm and acts of suicide will not be a focus in this story. The suicide tag is covered within the first two chapters and should not have any further featuring, but is present for safety sake. 
> 
> Romantic relationships across all spectrum ( m/f, f/f, m/m ) will occur in this fic as feature and implied arcs - they will be tagged when they become relevant, though for now they are not the point of the story. That said, please enjoy and feel free to comment on who you THINK should get together as the story progresses : )

He hadn’t meant to - it was the only logical thought Harry could hold on to as he stared at the blood pooling out upon the floor, the gouges in Malfoy’s face staring up at him accusingly as Snape knelt, his voice like a song as he spoke the counter curse. He couldn’t think beyond the color blooming out before him, beyond the horrified screams and sobs of Moaning Myrtle above it all - his heart was pounding, but he felt cold, as if he had been flying too long in the rain, each breath seemed to freeze in his chest as his lungs clawed at him, burning against every intake.

The skin on Malfoy’s face began knitting together, and Snape drew the pale blonde up to his feet, mentioning something about _scarring_ , talking about the Hospital Wing - Harry wasn’t catching everything, he was still too stunned. As Snape drew past him, he demanded that Harry wait there in the battered bathroom, in a backdrop of flowing water and the blood he’d spilled - and it didn’t occur to Harry to leave. He nodded on automatic, Moaning Myrtle’s sobs taking a new tone now that it seemed that Malfoy was going to live - murder. Murder in the bathroom, that was what she had called it, and if Snape hadn’t shown up when he did -

The shudder had barely finished wracking through his form when a hand grasped his upper arm, and Harry turned to find himself staring into the impenetrable gaze of Blaise Zabini. For the first time, Harry could see how the tall Slytherin commanded so much respect from the others without seeming to really work at it - just looking at the furious set of those aristocratic features was enough to make him feel very small and insignificant. He opened his mouth to say something - what, he didn’t even know - but Zabini shook his head and _yanked_ \- physically hauling Harry around and turning him toward the door where Pansy Parkinson and Theodore Nott stood with thunderous expressions.

Had it not been for the hard shove at his shoulder, Harry might have had the wits about him to argue Snape had told him to stay put, but as soon as his feet stumbled forward, he found himself carried on by his own momentum and directly into the joint grip of the other two Slytherins, who each clamped on to him from either side and lead him away from the bathroom. There were looks from others as they went - and Harry wondered, briefly, why no one interfered. Glancing down at himself, he cringed internally as the answer was made clear - the way Parkinson and Nott had him, it looked like they were supporting a bloody Gryffindor to the Hospital Wing - and they were going the right way for it, at least at first.

Parkinson snapped something - it sounded like a spell, but Harry didn’t catch it before a portrait slid to the side and he was dragged down a hidden hallway he certainly had not seen on the Marauder’s Map before. Alarm started to settle in, enough so that he finally got the wits to stop and drag his arm away from Parkinson, whose grip wasn’t as fierce as Nott’s - but the firm press of a wand just behind his ear, pressing against his pulse, stilled any further attempts to get away.

“Relax, Potter,” Zabini’s tone was hard to read, but there was something in how calm he was that made Harry even more nervous, considering how firmly the taller boy had his wand settled against his neck, “If we wanted to kill you, why would we bother moving you from the scene of your own crime?”

Hearing it worded that way - Harry swallowed thickly. “I didn’t mean - “

“Shut up,” Parkinson cut across him, high and sharp, “You nearly murdered someone, you think _I didn’t mean to_ excuses that?”

 _No,_ Harry realized grimly, something heavy settling in his stomach as he thought about it. He shook his head mutely, noting mildly that his other arm was starting to go a little numb in Nott’s grip. He hadn’t known what that spell even did - yet thinking about it, he could just hear Hermione’s horror at using a spell without knowing what it could do. Even Mr. Weasley had been clear on the fact that when it came to magic, one should never trust something unless you knew its origins.

“What are you going to do then?”

“We’re going to have a discussion, like civilized people,” Zabini assured softly, and Harry didn’t argue, because he understood enough about what wasn’t being said. He’d committed an adult crime today - being a kid didn’t excuse murder, and while sectumsempra might not be an Unforgivable, what it did certainly was. A court of his peers playing at being civilized was the least of his worries if this left the school - and there was no way Malfoy wasn’t going to talk. His family might have been in disgrace, but he probably had lawyers -

Harry was drawn out of his mental spiral when Nott dragged on his arm and he winced. Curiously, Nott frowned and eased his hold, though he and the other two were no less intent as they lead him on through the mysterious hallway until they reached another portrait and Parkinson spoke again. This time Harry paid attention enough to catch the password - only what she said sounded so strange it took Harry a long minute to realize she hadn’t said something in Latin but rather in _Welsh_ \- but before he could consider the wisdom of questioning that, he was being drawn through into what looked like a classroom.

The walls were lined with books, and there were several desks as well as a standing podium and a blackboard. Once in the room, the Slytherins moved away from him, each making their way to a desk and leaning against it. Faced with their stares, Harry shifted uncomfortably and looked around, trying to figure out where they were - and if there were any other exits. “So - uhm - Snape told me to stay where I was - “

“Oh too bad - so you’ll have to do whatever you usually do when you ignore him!” Parkinson had a way of speaking that was utterly obnoxious, and as Harry narrowed his eyes at her, Zabini laid a hand on her shoulder and she crossed her arms, looking away with an expression like she’d just popped a lemon wedge in her mouth.

“You won’t be punished - you know that, don’t you?”

Zabini’s question was so unexpected that Harry stared at him as if he might be a bit mad. Perhaps it showed, because the dark boy’s lips curved into a patient smile that somehow made Harry feel even worse. “Oh, Professor Snape will lay into you as much as he can get away with, that much is for certain. You’ll have detention for sure - but nobody will report you, or expect there to be any legal repercussions. You know why?”

“Because Mr. Malfoy’s in prison?” Harry hazarded, despite an inner voice that sounded suspiciously like Ron warning him to pick his battles more carefully when locked away who-knows-where in the castle with three understandably pissed off Slytherins.

“Merlin’s teeth, Potter - “ Whatever Parkinson had been about to follow that with was cut off by Nott, who startled Harry by laughing. The other two stared at him, and Nott shook his head helplessly for a moment before managing to croak out, “He has a point - old Lucius would never take this one lying down.”

Harry edged himself closer to the exit as the other two gave Nott displeased looks, but this appeared to be the wrong move as the next thing he heard was a quiet _expelliarmus_ \- his wand flew over to Zabini, who caught it with a lazy sort of grace that Harry couldn’t help but envy - he was _quick,_ but he could never make things look that effortless. Frustration was clouding his judgment at this point however, and he’d about had it.

“Look, whatever it is you want, just get on with it - I’m really not in the mood for this right now - “

“You owe Malfoy a life debt, and you just about murdered him today. Had it not been for Professor Snape sparing him, you’d currently be bleeding out on the bathroom floor as your own curse shredded you until there was nothing left - and it would have served you right!” Parkinson again, though this time Harry didn’t concentrate on how shrill her voice was so much as the content of what she had to say. Something ugly shifted in him, and he stepped back - not out of any conscious need to escape, so much as reflex in the face of something deeply unpleasant.

“What the hell are you on about - “

“I know you make an annual effort to perish and all, Potter, but surely you remember your spectacular adventure in Myrtle’s bathroom last year?” Nott this time, his voice droll enough that Harry found he wasn’t particularly offended by the remark - it didn’t sound like an attack so much as a bored observation, and that was - close enough to the truth it would be pointless to be annoyed by it.

“You’re saying _Malfoy_ was the one who - “

“Pried the venom from behind your teeth and saved you from drowning in your own blood?” The wicked question made Harry wince. “Honestly, could you be any more dramatic? Why not just throw yourself off the Astronomy tower if it was a scene you wanted - “

“I wasn’t trying to off myself!” Harry yelled, sick to his stomach at the insinuation he’d wanted his death to be a spectacle. “The hell is wrong with you Parkinson - why would I - “

“How should I know what goes on in that head of yours? You just _gutted_ my best friend, Golden Boy!”

“Don’t call me that!” It was so irrelevant, but the way she said it made his teeth grind, “What happened last year was an accident - “

“Harry.”

The sudden use of his given name quieted him instantly, and it seemed to silence Parkinson as well. All eyes were on Zabini as he stepped forward, offering Harry his wand back. Frowning, Harry hesitantly reached out - but there was no trick, and his hand closed around the handle. He looked up at the other boy for just a moment, and caught the trap just as it slammed shut on him.

_“Can’t sleep, Harry?” Nearly Headless Nick sounded so painfully understanding, and Harry hated him for it. He hated everyone for their patience and their pitying looks - he didn’t want their kindness, he wanted someone to scream at. Someone who would fight back, and give him a reason to feel something other than this impotent, horrible rage that seemed to be eating away at everything good inside of him. “You know, when I was alive, I often had a difficult time sleeping,” The ghost carried on, oblivious to Harry’s frustration as he strode on faster, as if he could escape the prattle if he just moved quicker. “There was a plant that would make it all go away,” That slowed his steps, “The frustrations, my boy, they can be the death of a man,” The irony in that wasn’t lost on Harry, “They still grow it - greenhouse seven, I believe. It’s the one with the purple stem. One or two of the blue leaves ought to do it - you’ll want to take them in the bathroom of course, they make a man mighty sick, but after, oh. You sleep like a dream.”_

A resistance started, but it was futile, as surely as it had been last year when Professor Snape had been the one traversing his thoughts as if they were nothing more than reading material - as accessible and vulnerable now as they had been during the lessons, though strangely lacking the fear. Perhaps it was because he knew what Zabini was looking for - and the moment he thought that, he surrendered the second part of the memory if only to get the other out of his mind faster.

_It was the last day - everyone was already packed and ready to board the Hogwarts Express tomorrow morning, and all Harry could think of was how desperately he wanted to go anywhere other than the Dursleys. He had avoided Nearly Headless Nick’s advice, but now the thought of a proper night of sleep before going to face that lot sounded like the exact medicine he needed. He had collected a lot more than two leaves - his hope was to sleep through as much of the summer as possible, frankly._

_Setting one of the blue leaves on his tongue, his first thought was surprise at how sweet it was. Like candy floss melting in his mouth, it even left that grainy texture like sugar sticking to one’s teeth. He had enough time to wonder if that was what the ghost had meant about it causing sickness first as he set the second one in his mouth. The pain struck him so hard he couldn’t breathe - he tasted rather than felt the blood that pooled in his mouth as lacerations opened up along his cheeks, he could hear the horrid, strangled gurgle of his own breath as he collapsed on the tiles, black shoes rushing toward him, green trim catching color as the stranger knelt nearby, hands maneuvering him, someone telling him to spit —_

The recollection ended abruptly, and Harry swayed. A steady hand guided him toward a seat, and Harry collapsed into it wordlessly. He didn’t know what to say - he hadn’t told anyone how he had found out about the plant, not even when they’d all assumed he knew what it would do. Hermione had sent him books on grief and wellness, and Ron had sent him a letter every day that summer, demanding he write back - it didn’t matter about what, and eventually they had settled on exchanging quidditch strategy as if they both didn’t know the real reason behind it was to make sure Harry hadn’t done something to himself without his friends watching. He’d convinced himself it was an accident - that maybe Nick had gotten the details wrong - but going over it like he’d just been forced to - he shuddered and placed his head in his hands.

“That was no accident,” Zabini mused, and when Harry didn’t answer he asked just as calmly, “But what happened with Draco - that was an accident, was it not?”

“Like I’d do something like that on purpose!” Harry managed, lowering his hands to glare at the other boy, though it didn’t have as much heat as it might have a moment ago.

“Where did you learn that curse?”

“It was in my potions book,” Harry confessed, though immediately wondered why.

“I see.” There was a sound of a chair moving, and Harry watched dispassionately as Zabini sat across from him. “That curse - it’s from the first war. My mother saw fit to ensure I knew all the spells that were commonly practiced then, in case I found myself in danger. She believed if I recognized the work, I’d be able to identify my enemy,” The explanation startled Harry, but he supposed it made sense in a frightening kind of way. “We brought you here because we wanted to see if you had done it on purpose or been directed to do it, because nobody would punish you - you make a perfect candidate for unwitting assassin.”

“That’s insane - “

“Is it?” The calm question was unnerving. “Think about it - if any of us had done that to you - do you think a professor would have us wait, or do you think we’d have been hauled directly for expulsion?”

Harry shifted uncomfortably. He knew the answer to that and he didn’t like what it said.

“Did anyone put you up to it?”

“No!” Harry was glad, at least, to have something he could fight, “We were just dueling, alright? I saw that spell in the book - it said it was for enemies - I didn’t know what it would do! Nobody told me to use it, and I didn’t - I didn’t mean to hurt him like that!”

“I believe you.”

That took the wind out of Harry’s sails, and Parkinson picked up the silence.

“You didn’t know it was Draco who rescued you, either?”

“No - and about that,” Harry frowned, now giving Zabini an unhappy look, “I don’t appreciate having my brain picked - “

“Then shield it.”

Harry’s jaw snapped shut a moment, then, “That’s not the point - “

“The point is, you were nearly murdered too.”

“No - “

“Wait what? Draco found him with the galius leaves in his hand, Blaise - “

“Someone he trusted told him they would help him sleep.”

Harry’s protests were swallowed down with the bile those words rose up, and it was Nott’s sarcastic, “Permanently, sure,” that forced Harry to his feet, pacing away from the three Slytherins and desperately needing air. In lieu of knowing how the hell to get out of here ( had the bookshelves changed? Why was this room so disorienting - and where did the hidden entrance go? Where the hell was the _door_ \- )

“Why’d he do it?”

“Not sure,” Zabini began, but Harry cut him off before he could say anything damning. “Malfoy, I mean. Why’d he save me?”

The three pairs of eyes on him were disconcerting, but he refused to budge. “Well? You’ve all been so talkative about what I owe him and what I’m apparently willing to do to him - so speak up! Why would _Malfoy_ save me? His father’s in prison and I’ll bet Voldemort’s not happy with him in the slightest! Surely he wants me dead? He could have even taken the credit - “

“You are such an idiot! Draco may not like you but he isn’t a killer, Potter! And what did his dad _really_ do to you? Think about it!”

“What the hell do you mean what did he really do?” Harry demanded, frowning at Parkinson, “He attacked me and my friends at the Ministry!”

“Did he?” Zabini sounded so genuinely curious that Harry shook his head. What kind of trick was this? “Did he curse you or your friends?”

Harry found himself thinking through the battle. Malfoy had tried to get him to hand over the prophesy - then he’d told the others to smash the shelves. When they bolted he remembered Malfoy ordering the Death Eaters around, trying to organize them - but there hadn’t been much organization to the fight, especially not with broken time turners and Death Eaters turning into babies, brains flying around - but Harry did remember the voices - he could pinpoint several Death Eaters by their voices now, and he didn’t recall Malfoy crying any curses. He had shown up when the others were already captured, had faced Harry again and asked for the prophesy -

“What’s your point?” Realizing he had been quiet for too long, Harry shook himself and frowned at the others. “So he appeared when the fighting was over and didn’t cast any curses - he was still leading those who were willing to kill us. Dolohov broke Neville’s nose - I still don’t know what he did to Hermione - “

“You’re right - he was trying to lead them, but you’ve already acknowledged the important part - he never tried to kill you himself, or harm your friends - “

“And that makes him innocent, does it, Nott? Your dad was more than happy to - “

“My dad’s a piece of shit,” The calm acknowledgment, the easy roll of Nott’s shoulders, startled Harry. “I’m not arguing his role here, only Malfoy’s. He follows the old ways and he taught Draco to do the same - what would you have him do in that situation? Take on nine Death Eaters and hope his betrayal won’t get his family killed after him? Of course he didn’t do anything - but he’s not stupid, and neither is Draco. You dying on a bathroom floor won’t help anyone.”

Harry had a lot of things he wanted to say to that, but in the end he settled for a bland, “Right, so you expect me to believe Malfoy saved me because I’m the chosen one.”

“No, you absolute broom rag, I mean he saved you because he was brought up on the old ways! One of the primary laws dictates that no harm be permitted to come to children should one be present to prevent it,” Nott snapped, seemingly out of good natured amusement now. “You said yourself that Lucius Malfoy just appeared after the fighting was over - he couldn’t prevent anything, but he didn’t add to it either. Draco was raised by his father’s ideals - he was present at the harming of a child, so he followed what the law dictated and protected you, because as mad at you as he might be, he knows his father would never forgive him had he ignored your plight!”

Harry’s mind reeled with this information, but before he could say anything a blue light flooded the room. He heard one of the Slytherins mutter an oath moments before a door appeared in the middle of a bookshelf and burst open, revealing Professors Snape, McGonagall and Dumbledore.

“There you are, Potter!” Professor Snape sounded furious, but what caught Harry’s attention were the looks on Dumbledore and McGonagall’s faces - and the fact that they were blocked out by Zabini and Nott as the two boys moved in front of him in an eerily familiar fashion. Before Harry could quite place it, he felt a hand grip his wrist and looked to see Parkinson glaring at the three adults. She barely moved her lips, but in the quiet he was able to catch her whisper to him not to move.

“What is the meaning of this?” Snape’s anger seemed to be distracted by the sight of the two Slytherins - and for once, Harry felt himself in complete agreement with the man’s mood, because he didn’t understand the shift either.

“We have reason to believe that Harry has been framed,” Zabini remarked, causing Harry to stare perplexedly at the back of his head. “We brought him here in order to ensure his safety.”

There was a scoff from McGonagall, and Dumbledore peered over his half-moon glasses in a way that made Harry wonder if Zabini could block mental intrusion as well as he could attack. “Is this true, Harry?”

“Er - “

“It’s okay Harry,” Zabini’s soft voice was strangely hypnotic, “You can tell them about the galius.”

Even Harry saw the way the teachers all stiffened, and he realized something sneaky was going on - though why he played along with Zabini he couldn’t rightly say. “It was Nearly Headless Nick - he said the leaves would help me sleep, when I was - struggling, cause of -Padfoot.”

Interestingly, Snape went a strange shade of white while McGonagall took on a reddish hue to put the house banners to shame as she whispered, “You cannot be serious Mister Potter - “

That - for some reason - pissed him off.

“Why? Why would I lie about that Professor? Do you really think I wanted to die like that?”

Whatever she had anticipated from him, that was clearly not it, and Harry felt rather guilty for how hard she blanched even as he felt Parkinson’s hand shift and move from his wrist to hold his own. It was - surprisingly supportive, and he shot her a confused, if mildly grateful look. She didn’t appear to notice though.

“Minerva, I believe we will need to have a word with your house mascot,” Dumbledore mused, to which she nodded mutely. “I thank you all for looking out for Harry - would you like to accompany him to my office?”

The question confused the hell out of Harry, and Zabini must have understood that considering his response clarified why it had been asked in the first place, “Seeing as his own house is out to kill him, I think it would be best if he was surrounded by those who are less blindly faithful.”

The headmaster smiled, and patted Snape on the shoulder. “Come, Severus - it seems your students have this well in hand.”

Mystified, Harry found himself lead out of the disorienting room into a familiar dungeon corridor, following the Headmaster, his head of house and Professor Snape toward Dumbledore’s office, flanked by three Slytherins who seemed intent on guarding him. Still soaked from his ordeal in the bathroom, Harry was once again confronted by the bloody sight he made as they entered the brightly lit halls of the greater school area, and he found himself dazed by the amount of questions he had - not the least of which being how he was going to explain to Ron why there were people whispering about him holding hands with Pansy Parkinson like he was the new Draco Malfoy…..


	2. Identifying Enemies

Settling into a chair in the headmaster’s office, Harry found his gaze seeking out the empty spaces - some of which had already been filled with new devices, and replacement artifacts for the ones he had destroyed the last time he had been in this room. Something in his stomach tightened as he remembered his rage then - it took him a moment to realize that he didn’t feel guilty for what he had done, and the sensation was his own resolve hardening as he watched Parkinson from the corner of his eye. She had shifted when he sat down, and was positioned behind his shoulder - he had seen her take the same position with Malfoy enough times that he now had to wonder if there was some kind of significance to it that he just didn’t understand.

Nott and Zabini seemed uninterested in sitting - the former had positioned himself against the chair to the right of Harry’s, while the latter had paced over to the fireplace and was leaning against it in a way that seemed almost threatening. Before Harry could determine what he thought of that, Professor McGonagall strode past him and Parkinson’s hand gripped his shoulder as if to insist he stay seated. He looked at her sharply, wondering where all this hands-on nonsense was even coming from, even as his head of house clipped out, “As serious as your accusation against Sir Nicholas may be, Mister Potter, there is still the matter of what occurred today with Mister Malfoy.”

Harry winced, remembering what Parkinson had said earlier about how not knowing hardly excused anything. “Is he going to be alright?”

“No thanks to you,” Snape sneered coldly, “Mister Malfoy will certainly survive. What I find curious is your use of Dark Magic - it appears we have underestimated the great Harry Potter - “

“I’d be careful on that vain professor, considering whoever taught him that spell doubtless knows who created it,” Zabini’s soft interruption drew Snape up short, and Harry watched with muted alarm as the sallow skin paled at first, before slowly taking on a ruddy hue that could not possibly bode well for anyone. Behind him, Harry noticed that Dumbledore had steepled his hands together and was observing everything with an unreadable expression.

“And just what are you insinuating?” The question was hissed so quietly Harry almost missed it, despite how quiet the room had gone. He couldn’t help but think Snape suddenly had the look of a hunted animal - cornered and half-mad, his eyes seemed to bore into the tall boy, and Harry noticed that his hands were clenching and unclenching at his sides as if itching to close around a throat -

“Only that perhaps instead of accusing Harry of taking to the Dark Side, it might be more beneficial to ask him about what happened and go from there. Such broad strokes paint too many shadows, wouldn’t you agree?”

Harry wondered where Zabini learned to be so - adult. It was like watching Dumbledore, the way he maneuvered his own head of house with such a natural ease. He tried to imagine Hermione or Ron working McGonagall the same way and shook his head - they might be able to trick or distract her, but what Zabini was doing seemed to be on another level entirely as Snape not only seemed to listen, but even began to visibly relax. His hands settled at his sides, and he inclined his head in a strange, sharp motion that caused some of his greasy hair to flick forward and shroud his face - Harry looked away before his blanching could give away how much attention he’d been paying to the exchange.

“Very well - Potter!” Harry jerked - even though he’d anticipated being addressed again, the sharp tone was startling. “What happened?”

For a moment, Harry could only stare at Snape, before finally looking over at Zabini and checking to see if the tall Slytherin had _Imperio’d_ his head of house. Instead, the other offered a small curve of his lips and an encouraging nod, as if indicating he should speak.

 _Since when did I start taking direction from Slytherins?_ Harry wondered dazedly as he turned back to Snape, who seemed to be chewing on his own tongue as he waited for him to speak - and wasn’t that a wonder in and of itself?

Pushing his luck, Harry glanced at his own head of house - McGonagall was frowning at him, but there was an air of concern to her stern expression that was familiar enough he offered her an apologetic smile on reflex, before looking at his hands and frowning a little. “I - I went looking for Malfoy. I wanted to confront him about Katie - when I found him he was - “ Harry hesitated, remembering how he had found the other boy, bowed over the sink and sobbing as Moaning Myrtle tried to comfort him. For some strange reason, Harry had the urge to protect Malfoy’s pride. Maybe it was because of how strangely the Slytherins were behaving, but Harry didn’t want to say anything that might make them think less of the boy they’d come after him to defend. “Talking to Myrtle. He saw me in the mirror and rounded on me - we were casting hexes at first, but then he started - “ Again, Harry paused, remembering now that he owed Malfoy a life debt, and altered from admitting Malfoy had been about to use and Unforgivable to, “A curse I recognized, so I cast a spell I had read of in a book of mine. I didn’t know what it would do - the spell just said it was for enemies, but that’s no excuse. I - as soon as I saw what it did - “

Harry shook his head, and was surprised to feel a tightening on his shoulder. Why Parkinson was reassuring him, he couldn’t fathom, but he was abundantly grateful for it. Silence descended for a time, before McGonagall’s voice broke out over the growing sense of doom that was starting to set in on Harry’s shoulders.

“Well - I must say, Potter, this is all very disturbing.” There was a snort from his right, and Harry resisted the urge to glower at Nott as he focused his attention on his head of house and awaited her verdict. “50 points, for using a curse on a fellow student - and three feet of parchment on why we _never_ use spells of unspecified use and origin, for a start!” Harry stared, thinking it a bit - mild, all things told. He could see Malfoy on the bathroom floor again, his face opened up, his shirt staining red from the gashes on his chest as if struck by an invisible sword -

“And detention,” She continued, drawing his attention again, “Every Saturday for a month.” Again it felt too easy, and he stared silently, waiting for the other hammer to fall, but as it was she simply turned to Dumbledore and remarked, “As to the other matter - Albus, I trust you mean to look into it immediately?”

“Indeed,” Dumbledore began, but Harry - who would later wonder what in the hell possessed him, interrupted the change of topic with two stunned words.

“That’s it?”

Snape’s stare seemed to bore into his skull, but he was staring at his head of house, who was now frowning at him again. “I nearly killed someone - and all I get is an essay and a couple days in detention?” Nails were digging into his shoulder, but he ignored Parkinson’s silent warning as anger settled in and he shot to his feet, “Is Malfoy’s life really only worth fifty points to you?”

Even Snape looked startled - and Harry noticed Dumbledore surreptitiously waving a hand toward some of his tables, as if remembering what happened the last time he had lost his temper in this office - but McGonagall’s offense took precedence over his own as she snapped, “Were you any other student, Potter - “

“But I’m not, am I? I’m the freaking chosen one, so I get away with murder, is that it?”

“Is that a confession?” The tart retort was enough to cause Harry to realize what he was doing. He ought to have been _happy_ to get off with such a light punishment for what he had done, but he couldn’t bring himself to feel anything other than frustration. It was exactly as the Slytherins had predicted - he wouldn’t get in trouble for something that should have cost him dearly, all because he was the Boy Who Had To Kill Voldemort. McGonagall had as good as admitted that much, as far as he was concerned.

Deflated, he shook his head and was grateful when Dumbledore finally opted to take control of the situation by remarking in a soothing tone, “I believe in light of the circumstances, Professor McGonagall chose to punish you on account of acting in ignorance, which did not factor the value of young Malfoy’s life because it was a reflection on your _intent,_ Harry. I believe she is quite right in assuming you did not _intend_ to threaten Mister Malfoy’s life?”

“No sir.”

“Then there you have it.” The man’s small smile was infuriating, but Harry did sit down again in the wake of it, barely listening as the headmaster inquired if any further punishment would be necessary. McGonagall took another twenty for his disrespect, and gave him detention on Tuesdays as well, but he ignored it as he tried to make sense of the chaos inside of himself. He still had so many questions - about Malfoy, about what Nott meant about the old ways, about why the Slytherins had gone from accusing him to protecting him, about Nick - but mostly, he just wanted to know if he could _leave._

“I must ask you Harry - where did you say you learned that particular spell?” Dumbledore’s question made Harry’s skin crawl, and he stared at the man as if trying to determine if he was being accused of something when once again, Zabini spoke up.

“Honestly Professor, weren’t you listening? He said he read it in one of his school books.” The headmaster’s piercing gaze turned toward him, but he seemed unaffected. “Unless you mean to accuse him of something else, I believe his punishment has been issued and that you have an investigation to start in to why one of the school ghosts attempted to murder a student.” When Dumbledore’s expression hardened, Zabini looked at his nails and remarked too idly, “I’m sure my mother would be _fascinated_ to learn where your priorities lie on that.”

“Ohh,” Parkinson breathed, causing Harry to glance at her with muted alarm, “I’m sure my dad would be more than happy to have the unspeakables bring Nicholas in for questioning - “

“That will not be necessary,” Dumbledore’s tone was as cold as Harry had ever heard it, though interestingly he found the man didn’t look as angry as he sounded. If anything, he seemed to be on to whatever game the two Slytherins were playing and unwilling to reveal that he approved. “You and your friends may go, Harry.”

“They’re not - “

“Come on Harry,” Parkinson’s voice was sickeningly sweet in his ear as she wrapped her arms around one of his and pulled. The next thing he knew, Nott was brushing by and grabbing his hand, and he was all but hauled out as Professor McGonagall protested to the Headmaster and Zabini brought up the rear. They made it halfway down the steps before Parkinson and Nott let him go, the former turning and pointing a finger right at his nose and hissing, “Don’t go getting any ideas, Potter. I only did that because you don’t seem to have a self-preserving bone in your body! What were you _thinking_ back there, anyway?”

“I just - “

“This isn’t the place,” Zabini remarked behind him. “You two go check on Draco - I am sure he is wondering where we are in any case.” Parkinson and Nott hesitated, but in the end they turned and headed off so fast Harry felt as if he should be experiencing whiplash from the sharpness of the mood change as he continued his descent with Zabini walking sedately beside him. They reached the bottom of the stairwell when Zabini gripped his shoulder, causing Harry to look up at him.

“Be careful, Potter. I don’t expect you to understand what took place today - but if you find you want to understand more, a group of us meet on Thursdays at seven. Head down to the portrait of Wendelin the Weird we took you to today - you remember the way?” At Harry’s nod, he smiled and released his shoulder, concluding simply, “Let her know you need a sponsor - someone will come and fetch you.”

He started to walk away, but Harry caught his arm, wanting to know, “Can I bring anyone with me? No offense, but I’m not all that keen in being in that room with you guys on my own again.”

If he expected a quip about Gryffindor bravery, it didn’t come. Instead he was startled by the approving look he was granted, and the simple assurance, “No more than four. If they acclimatize well, then you may bring more.” He withdrew his arm, then, as if struck by a thought, “And bring Longbottom.”

“So - five?” Harry tried, and guessed from the brow he was offered that it was a swing and a miss. “Alright - Neville and three others. Thanks, I guess.”

“Head back to your tower, Potter. You’re a mess.” The tone was almost amused, and Harry looked down at himself with a groan. Zabini was walking away by the time Harry had determined his clothes were well and truly beyond hope by now, so he turned and made his way toward his dorm - realizing with some amusement of his own that he was once again following the taller boy’s direction. Though this time, at least, it made sense.

Picking up the pace, Harry raced up the stairs in order to minimize the amount of staring he would have to deal with and rapped out the password in the middle of the Fat Lady’s horrified exclamations about his state of dress. Tuning out her scolding as the portrait swung out, he ducked inside and was barely out the other side before he was accosted by a flurry of curls and strong arms pulling him quickly toward the corner he and his friends usually occupied.

“Starting to feel really popular today,” He quipped, though one look at Ron’s face told him that was entirely the wrong thing to say.

“What in the hell is this about you bloodying up Malfoy over Parkinson?”

“Wait - I did what?” Harry blurted, before the hilarity of the question wholly registered and he started to laugh, which did nothing to mollify his friend.

“I thought you liked my sister!” Ron’s incredulous question was the final straw, and Harry clutched his stomach as the sheer ridiculousness of the Hogwarts rumor mill buried him in its avalanche. While he fought for the ability to breathe, he heard Hermione admonishing Ron, though it wasn’t until she reached a certain point that he managed to get hold of himself.

“ - why would Harry be interested in _Pansy?_ She’s ghastly - I’ll bet she spread the rumor herself - ”

_Don’t get any ideas!_

“She wouldn’t,” Harry heard himself saying, straightening up as his two friends looked over at him, and he sought for where to start. “Malfoy and I did fight - and I cursed him with something I read of in the Prince’s book - “

“Harry, you didn’t!”

She sounded as horrified in real life as she had in his thoughts earlier, causing Harry to smile apologetically, “I got an earful from a lot of folks,” He admitted wryly, “Anyway - long story short - I lost Gryffindor seventy points - “ Ron made a strangled noise, “And I owe McGonagall three feet on why we don’t use spells we don’t know,” Hermione gave a sniff like she felt it should be ten, “And I’ve got eight nights of detention all told.”

“Bloody hell mate - what’d that curse even _do?”_

Harry was quiet long enough that Hermione whispered, “You’re covered in blood, Harry - whatever it did - it was really bad, wasn’t it?” He nodded mutely, and she looked torn between the need to comfort him and scold him within an inch of his life for using an unknown curse to begin with. Opting to avoid the latter, Harry turned to Ron and asked, “What are the old ways?”

Hermione blinked, clearly startled by the sudden change in topic - but _Ron_ looked like Harry had just punched him in the face. He stepped back, brows furrowing a little, then, “It’s the term dark magic users have for their rituals - why?”

Well that doesn’t make a lot of sense, Harry mused. “Something Nott said - “

“What’s that berk got to do with anything?”

A sliver of annoyance curled in Harry’s gut, and he snapped, “Nott’s one of the reasons Dumbledore no longer thinks I’m a suicidal freak, and it’s thanks to him I know who saved me that day - “

“And you just believe him, do you? I’m sure he has your best interests at heart, convincing Dumbledore not to keep an eye on you,” Ron growled back, shocking Harry into silence.

“Why did Dumbledore listen to him, Harry?”

Hermione’s question drew their attention, and Ron was about to say something when Harry admitted quietly, “Because I told him how I found out about that plant. Nott and a couple other Slytherins were there - I’m pretty sure they threatened Dumbledore somehow, but I’m not sure - “

“Sounds like Slytherins - “

“What do you mean, how you found out about that plant? Harry it was covered in the appendices of our Herbology texts last year!”

“You _do_ know you’re the only one who reads those, right, ‘Mione?” No sooner did he ask, did Ron frown and look at Harry, “Wait - then how - “

“Nearly Headless Nick told me the leaves would help me sleep.”

They stared at him, and Harry shifted uncomfortably under their scrutiny. It was Ron who recovered first.

“That’s barmy, mate. You can’t really think - “

“What?” Harry asked, tone dangerous, “Why do you think I didn’t tell anyone? Who would believe me, right? If Zabini hadn’t legilimized me - “

“He _what_ \- “

“Then I still wouldn’t have told anyone, but now they know. And now Dumbledore’s going to look into it, and for some reason I’m still here despite it because Malfoy’s belief in these old ways meant he had to save me when he saw me like that! So I owe him a life debt, and I nearly killed him today!”

Ron paled - and that confirmed to Harry what he’d been told earlier, that if he had killed Malfoy it would have taken him out too. “So - let me get this straight,” Ron began slowly, in that way that told Harry he genuinely was listening, and trying to piece everything together, “Nearly Headless Nick told you galius leaves would help you sleep - and when you took them, it was Malfoy who saved you?” Harry nodded. “And you never told us - because you didn’t think we’d believe you?” Harry raised his brows, as if to remind his friend of the fact he’d only just been called barmy. Ron had the good grace to grimace. “Right - and then - you cursed Malfoy, and somehow ended up having a heart to heart with Nott and Zabini legilimized the truth from you?”

“Something like that,” Harry agreed, shrugging.

“Blimey Harry - “

Whatever Ron had to say was cut off by a stern, “That’s illegal - I’m sure of it - there’s no way a student can just invade another student’s mind like that - “

“I’d just cut Malfoy open like a fish on a hook Hermione, I think checking to make sure I didn’t know what I was doing was pretty justified on his part.”

Again he was met with silent staring, then, finally, “You said that they threatened Dumbledore?”

Glad to be on an easier topic, Harry nodded. “Yeah - I think so? Dumbledore was asking about the Prince’s book, and Zabini said his mother would be really interested in the headmaster’s priorities with questioning Nick - “

“I bet she would,” Ron cut in, “She’s pretty high up in the International Magical Office of Law - she could make a lot of trouble for Dumbledore if she wanted to.”

“Is that how she got away with - “ Hermione waved a hand, “You know?”

Ron shrugged, “Dunno - probably though.”

Harry hadn’t known Mrs. Zabini worked - he did know she’d had a lot of husbands though. That wasn’t exactly a secret. Shifting a bit, he pressed on - strangely uncomfortable with the turn the conversation had taken, “Anyway - after that, Parkinson said her dad would be happy to send unspeakables to question him, so Dumbledore told us all we could leave.”

“Wait - Parkinson was with you?”

“She actually brought her dad into it? Is she mental?” Ron laughed, before seeming to realize it had worked, and frowned a little. “That’s right strange.”

“You’re telling me,” Harry breathed.

“No - I mean, why would Dumbledore care if Parkinson’s dad got informed? It’s not like a Death Eater can just waltz into Hogwarts - “

“But he’s not convicted, is he?” Hermione pointed out quietly, “He’s still - with the Ministry. And powerful, from the sounds of it - “

“Why doesn’t the Order do something - “

“Besides,” Hermione pressed on, “Do we really want Death Eaters knowing that Nick tried to kill Harry?”

Both boys fell quiet in the wake of that, before Harry shook his head. Strangely, he didn’t think the Slytherins were a threat - though he did have to wonder why his opinion had changed so dramatically from this morning.

“Listen - as much as I want to puzzle this out with you guys - I need to get cleaned up - “

“Oh of course - “

“Yeah, you’re a right mess actually - “

Harry huffed in agreement, and brushed by his friends to head upstairs. Stepping into the dorm, Harry startled Neville, who appeared to be watering some sort of fly trap. “Wow Harry - I heard you got into a fight but - “

“It’s a long story Nev,” Harry breathed, and the other boy nodded, leaving Harry to gather his things in peace. It was as Harry headed into the bathroom that he paused, and turned back to ask, “Hey - would you mind joining me for a meeting on Thursday?”

Neville’s brow furrowed. “DA stuff, Harry?”

“Something like that.”

Neville’s smile made Harry feel a little bad for not explaining more clearly, “Sure - I’d be happy to.”

“Great - I’ll meet you at the Great Hall at six thirty then.”

“The Great Hall?”

“Yeah - we’ll be going to a new meeting place.”

“Sounds good to me,” Neville agreed readily enough, leaving Harry to head into the washroom to finally clean off from the day, and consider seriously who he would bring with him as his remaining three. While his brain immediately leaned toward Ron and Hermione, he had to wonder at the wisdom of it, and began going over his friends as he washed up, debating over who would be the most open to helping him truly understand what was going on between himself and the Slytherins, as well as to truly look into what, exactly, the old ways were.


	3. Meeting With Malfoy

If he had thought being attacked by a provoked hippogriff was a painful experience, Draco now found himself grimly aware of the fact a provoked Gryffindor was a thousand times worse. Severus had checked in on him repeatedly - fussing with potions, checking him over as if Pomfrey didn’t know what she was doing - but it had been a bit of a relief honestly. The tension between them had been reaching a breaking point ever since Slughorn’s party, for though he knew his godfather meant well, the fact of the matter was relying on him was downright dangerous at this juncture. While he doubted his aunt was right in thinking Severus would ever turn on his family, he did agree with her suspicion that the man was hardly as loyal to the Dark Lord as he appeared to be - after what he had seen, Draco finally understood why his parents hadn’t seemed particularly thrilled about His return. He was mad - and dangerous, and so were such thoughts.

Sighing, he shifted slowly, wincing as he managed to wiggle himself into a sitting position. It had been three days since he had been brought in to the hospital - his mother had even come to see him, which would have been more welcome if only he had better news for her. She had looked so worn and tired, the fear in her eyes making them dull in a way he’d never seen before and wished desperately to clear away. Perhaps even more disturbing had been her general visage - at a glance, she had seemed her usual self, her robes pristine and not a pin out of place - but her hair could have rivaled his aunt’s, twisted up into the sort of array she never would have dared to wear in public before. It was as though she couldn’t be bothered in the wake of everything else and that, in and of itself, said enough to him. He had to fix this, somehow - he had to get her out of all of this, even if it meant -

The sound of rustling fabric caught his attention, and Draco narrowed his eyes before reaching for his wand and ignoring the ache in his chest as he moved too quickly. Before he could straighten again, there was a rush of sound, and a quiet, “Don’t freak out - “ that had him snatching up his wand and casting a quick protego around his bed even as Potter raised both his hands above his head, looking queerly like some kind of startled rodent. Draco’s eyes narrowed, about to ask what the Gryffindor was even _doing,_ sneaking around the Hospital Wing, when Potter startled him by announcing, “I know I owe you a life debt. I don’t really know how those work, exactly,” That much was obvious, “But I - wanted to talk to you. And apologize.”

“So you snuck in after curfew?”

“You’re generally - pretty occupied.”

“You mean I have protection, Potter?” The sneer lacked something, but in truth Draco knew when it came to fan clubs he paled in comparison to the Golden Boy’s entourage. Interestingly, the other boy did look pretty guilty - though he supposed that had to do with what Blaise had mentioned. “Only you could nearly kill someone by sheer dumb luck.” As olive branches went, that was a strange shape to choose, but then again it wasn’t as though anything about this could qualify itself as particularly normal. As if to prove it, Potter’s response was - the last thing Draco expected.

“I do seem to make a habit of it, don’t I?”

It honestly took Draco a moment to realize the bloody bastard had just made a joke at the expense of the Dark Lord. His jaw worked, incredulity washing through him as he attempted to figure out where one even began responding to that when the bastard off and continued -

“I mean if you think about it - I killed Quirrel by accident too - and the basilisk was definitely sheer luck.”

“Basilisk?” Potter arched a brow at him, which was hardly appreciated. “Excuse me for not knowing the adventures of the great Harry Potter,” He sneered irritably, though the genuinely startled look on the Gryffindor’s face baffled him. “What?”

“You - really don’t know about the basilisk?”

“Why should I?”

“Well - I mean it was your dad who set it loose in second year - “

“What are you on about, Potter?” Even as the question sliced forth, Draco considered the events of second year - he wasn’t entirely certain how some things clicked into place, but he supposed a basilisk would explain the petrifications to an extent. If that was what Potter was angling at though, then that could only mean - “You think my _father_ was the heir of Slytherin?” If it weren’t for the fact Potter condescended the house so intensely Draco might have been flattered - as it was, from the Golden Gryffindor that tasted more like an accusation than a compliment.

“No - though I did think you were - “ Draco snorted at that, unsurprised to discover Potter was about as smart as Vincent and Gregory, “Voldemort’s the heir,” Draco winced at the name, but Potter barreled onward before he could berate him for it, “He was in a diary that your father gave to Ginny Weasley - he used her to open the Chamber of Secrets, and set the basilisk loose on the school. That’s why people were getting petrified - they all saw reflections of its eyes, through puddles and lenses and ghosts and mirrors.”

Draco stared silently for a long moment as he pieced that nonsense together, and registered the portrait it forged were it not for one glaring contradiction. “You mean to tell me - that the Dark Lord has been back since second year?”

“Oh - no. I destroyed the diary - I stabbed it with one of the basilisk’s fangs, so Riddle kind of exploded.”

“What?” Draco was baffled a moment, then, “And you think my father knew about all of this?”

“Well - yeah? He’s the one who gave Ginny the diary - “

“Potter - do you honestly believe - oh of course you do,” Draco shook his head, irritated but too sedated by pain killers to get particularly furious over it ( which was probably for the best, really ) “There’s no way he knew what that diary contained. He was probably trying to pawn it off on the Weasleys so that Weasley Senior could enjoy a taste of his own raiding medicine for a change - my father’s not the kind of person who would willingly unleash a basilisk on a school.” Or a Dark Lord, for that matter - but Potter would never believe that, would he?

“Is that because of his belief in the old ways?”

Had Blaise not mentioned the intervention with Potter, Draco might well have perished from the shock of that question. As it was, the fact Potter wasn’t contradicting him and seemed to have some semblance of critical thinking skills was surprise enough. “Exactly. Glad to see you’ve been paying attention,” The drawl would have done Snape proud, he was sure of it - but he didn’t elaborate any further, either. Far be it from he to explain the old ways to Harry Potter!

“Alright - let’s say for the benefit of the doubt your father really didn’t know about Voldemort’s diary,” Again with that bloody name! “And that he really is a follower of these old ways,” Blue eyes narrowed dangerously, sensing an insult forming, “But was willing to overlook them when Voldemort came back and tried to kill me in a graveyard and - if Zabini and the others are right - did his best during the Ministry battle not to hurt us. Let’s say all of that is true - and that’s why you saved me last year,” Draco wasn’t about to point out that seeing someone his own age bleeding out on a bathroom floor had been petrifying enough to make him desperate to do anything regardless of who they were, “It doesn’t explain why you’re now willing to hurt people like Katie and Ron - do they not count as children anymore or are the old ways something that can be overlooked when its convenient?”

And there was the insult.

“I am not wasting my time explaining the nuances of survivalist mentality to a hard-headed Gryffindor whose only concept of bravery is a lack of self preservation and a willingness to run headfirst into danger no matter who else might get hurt because of it,” Draco scathed coldly, “But for your information, neither one of those people were supposed to get hurt in the first place!” He had wrapped the necklace tightly - Katie was never supposed to touch it! And how the hell was he supposed to know Slughorn would drink that wine himself and share it with students when he did so?

“But they did,” The stubborn insistence was galling, “So what does that mean?”

“What do mean, what does that mean?”

“I mean - you hurt people - children, technically. Do the old ways punish that kind of thing or is guilt supposed to be bad enough?”

“You’re going to make a fabulous auror one day, with that kind of ignorance.”

“I’m asking because I want to understand, stop being a prick.”

“I’ll stop when you do!”

The hospital wing fell silent in the wake of Draco’s slightly loud outburst - both boys glaring ferociously at one another as they strained to listen for any sign of Pomfrey - and then, slowly, but unmistakably, the sound of laughter spilled forth. For a moment Draco simply stared at Potter as though he had gone positively barmy. As the laughter continued, he found himself snorting a bit in amusement at the sheer ridiculousness of his predicament - and the fact that, for a moment, things had almost felt… normal. The soul crushing oppression of the circumstances he was under had fallen away, just long enough to remember how to breathe again.

“I owe them debts,” Draco admitted finally, “Equivalent to the damage caused.”

The laughter had faded by then, and Potter seemed to consider his words thoughtfully for once before speaking again. “Are those debts like vows or more like magical contracts?”

“A vow _is_ a magical contract.”

“Oh - “ Potter paused, his expression momentarily frustrated, then, “I mean - there’s the unbreakable vow, which you die if you break. And then there’s - binding magical contracts as they say - like with the goblet of fire. Though admittedly I don’t know what happens when you break one of those - “

“You die, Potter. It’s pretty much the same kind of old magic, just that nobody talks about it because technically it’s dark and the _Ministry_ would _never_ use dark arts.” The explanation was - for a change - patient, as he could tell Potter was genuinely trying to work some things out, but it was hard not to be sarcastic about the two faced nature of the Ministry. “Debts like these are a little more mercurial and harder to define - but for example, if I were to know that someone had placed a curse on say - Katie’s wedding ring, and I warned her, my debt would be fulfilled. Whether it saves her life or not, she owes me no debt, because even if what could have happened to her would have been worse than the damage I caused, for inflicting the damage I did anything I mitigate or cancel for her evens the score. If I were to save her again after that, then she would owe me a debt. That said - if I knew about the curse on her ring and didn’t warn her, the effects of that curse would instead rebound onto me, and I would absorb the damage for her. If, however, I had no notion her ring was cursed, then no damage would come to me and I would still owe her - unless she died, at which point my debt to her would be released.”

Potter frowned throughout this explanation, and by the end of it Draco was beginning to wonder why he had bothered explaining at all. It was hard to tell what the Gryffindor was taking from it, but the question that ultimately formed showed the Golden Boy was sharper than he might have otherwise guessed. “Why isn’t this something that’s explained when we come to Hogwarts? It seems kind of important to understand how magic debts work if they can be procured like this.”

“Well - that’s because they generally aren’t. Practitioners of the old ways swear themselves by their magic - that’s not something that’s done by most of the wizarding population, so they aren’t bound by the same rules we are.” Seeing the look of confusion, Draco shook his head. “I’ve already said too much. Suffice it to say Potter, this war isn’t easy on those of us who are genuinely bound to the old ways - rather than just claiming to be.”

“You mean like Voldemort?” Draco winced and said nothing - thankfully, that seemed to say enough because Potter nodded a bit and stated suddenly, “I’m going to that meeting on Thursday, with Neville for sure - and Hermione.” The girls name appeared to be some sort of challenge, so when all Draco did was raise a brow it appeared some sort of test had been passed. “I don’t really know what to expect from this, but I know Hermione values knowledge enough to be neutral even in a snake den, and Neville was suggested by Zabini. I have two more I can bring, but I’m having a hard time figuring out who would be best.”

This came as a surprise. “Trouble in paradise with the Weasel and Weaselette there, Potter?”

“Yeah - mostly that they’re hex happy when it comes to prats.”

The quip was so quick Draco couldn’t help but grin, “Fair enough - though why you’re telling me, I can’t fathom.”

“You’re going to be there, aren’t you?” Again, Potter seemed to understand what his arching brow meant. “I want to understand what the hell is going on - and Hermione is the smartest person I know.” Again a challenge - it took all of Draco’s willpower not to snort, but it seemed to pay off. “And Neville is guaranteed. But Ron - well, he has a temper and I know whatever comes to light, open minds are better than stubborn ones at this juncture. As for Ginny - well her mind is pretty made up when it comes to you and your friends, so I don’t think she’ll be much better.”

Draco was - admittedly surprised that Potter was putting this much consideration into it, rather than picking his best friends simply because they were his best friends. It was - very not Gryffindor of him to value the delicate diplomatic matters in obtaining the knowledge he sought, but he was hardly about to say that out loud. “Nobody says you have to bring four people your first time - just that you can if you want to. If you’re looking for suggestions however,” Draco hesitated, before deciding he might as well if only to see the look on Potter’s face, “Lovegood might be a worthy option. She’s a Ravenclaw, so knowledge is something she prizes - and she’s a pureblood, so chances are she’ll understand nuances you might miss. Her family isn’t high society, but they are neutral - if you’re looking to keep the peace, she’d be a safe bet.”

Potter looked stunned, though Draco’s smirk shifted when the other grinned at him in delight. He hadn’t exactly said anything to warrant that reaction, which was a little unnerving. “That’s brilliant honestly. I think I can figure out the rest for myself,” Draco witheld his doubts as the other boy rose to his feet. “I’ll let you rest now,” How thoughtful of him, “But - I’ll see you around. You’re back in class tomorrow, right?” A somewhat baffled nod, “Alright. Well I’ll see you then - and on Thursday.” This time, Draco did snort. “Good to see you back to yourself again, Malfoy.”

With that remarkable parting shot, Potter vanished under his cloak and exited the hospital wing, Draco’s gaze boring through his back the entire while.


End file.
